


Hunter and Hunted

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [73]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, BECAUSE FUCK NETFLIX FOR BREAKING MY HEART LIKE THAT, Blood and Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, I WROTE IT FOR M E, I feel like this one kinda tips over into graphic violence?, Panic Attacks, Properly, THIS FIC IS FOR M E, Violence, also i'm making kastle official, and i don'T CARE IF IT'S REALISTIC OR NOT, don't at me, fucked up psychopathic shit, i'm dead serious, maybe just a bit?, medication withdrawals, so i hit that warning just in case, so now they're together, so there, strictly platonic snuggling for the purpose of warmth only, this fic goes places, this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You wake up in the middle of nowhere with Frank Castle sitting next to you. Turns out, the two of you have been abducted --with others--and dumped into a forest to be prey in a sick game of prey and predator. Will you --and Frank--make it out alive?(Set after "It's Truly Magical.")[All warnings in the tags, though as a special note: I feel like this one tipped over into the Graphic Violence category (which, with Frank, isn't surprising). I don't think it's the most violent thing out there, but I wanted to be safe rather than sorry. Make sure you check the tags for specifics!]
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page, Piotr Rasputin/Reader
Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [73]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079544
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Hunter and Hunted

You wake up to someone’s hand pressing against your neck.

Your first instinct is to lash out at the mystery hand and its owner –so that’s what you do. You let out a choked scream, grab the wrist of the hand pressed against your neck, and fling a fist in the direction of whomstever the hand belongs to.

The person –a man, but not Piotr or Wade or Nate or Hank or _anyone_ you would remotely expect to be touching your neck—blocks your swing and lets out a grunt. “Hey –hey, calm down—”

You aim a kick at the man’s gut –the light is making it impossible to see, meaning that calming down is on your lowest priority list right now—and make contact, successfully shoving him off you. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, you fucking pervert, fucking touching my damn neck like some sort of candy van driving creep, I will slamdunk the buttfucking brains out of you…” You stop when you finally see the “neck toucher,” then blink and squint because you’ve _got_ to be imagining things. “What the fuck?”

Frank Castle grimaces at you. “My thoughts exactly.”

You go from crouching to sitting flat on your ass as your brain tries to process what all’s going on –and that’s when you notice another important detail.

You’re in the middle of a forest.

You’re surrounded by trees, dense foliage, dirt, rocks, and fallen debris for as far as the eye can see. There’s no sign of civilization, anyone else, or how you even got out here.

Which, naturally, begs the question: _how the fuck did you get out here with Frank Castle and no recollection of how you got here_?

“We’ve got a bad fucking track record with running into each other, man,” you grumble as you push yourself into a standing position. “I take it you weren’t casually hiking along and just happened to bump into me?”

“I wish,” Frank mutters as he brushes his hands off on his pants. “I woke up a few meters up the hill.” He jerks his head to the left. “Thought I saw someone through the brush, decided to check it out, found you.”

“And you decided the best way to wake me up was to cup my neck because…”

Frank snorts. “Wasn’t trying to be weird. You’ve got one of the collars on.”

“What?” Your hands fly up to your neck, and you let out a streak of swear words when you feel the repression collar in place. “Mother of _fuck_ –okay, how in the flying fuck did I even get out here with this thing on?”

“Probably a hunting ring,” Frank says, tone darkening. “Was looking into one of their operations last I can remember. They like to pick people up, ship them out to the woods, hunt them for sport. Guess they were looking for a challenge this time.”

 _Yeah, or a death sentence_ , you think, considering they decided to pick up the fucking Punisher, of all people. Your hand floats back up to your neck, groping at the collar as you try to get a sense for what model it is. “Tell me what this looks like. Keypad, fingerprint scanner, power cell size, whatever. I’m a dead duck until I get this thing off me, so the more I know, the better.”

“Got a keypad on the back with the numbers zero through nine, a delete key, and an ‘enter’ key,” Frank says, stepping behind you to get a better look at the collar.

“Any seams on the side or areas that would let us access the internal mechanisms?”

“…Yeah. There’s a seam running all around the node the keypad’s mounted on, and there’s a little rectangular hole that you could jam a screwdriver head or a knife blade in to pop the sucker open.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath and do your best to calm yourself. “That’s… something.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Frank reassures you, slowly pacing around as he assesses his surroundings. “We’ll figure something out.”

“…Frank… if I can get the collar off, I seriously doubt we’re going to get out of this place in enough time for me to get my next does of meds, which means…”

Which means the likelihood of an episode happening –even if regular medication and psychic therapy have helped—and you’re not about to risk someone that _literally_ has no ways of protecting themselves.

But Frank –true to form, if Wade and Karen are to be believed—merely shakes his head once your voice trails off. “Not leaving you out here alone. You’re a sitting duck with that collar on. Plus, safety in numbers. We’re sticking together.”

You open your mouth to argue –but are promptly cut off by the sound of gunshots and someone screaming nearby.

Frank tenses, then takes off towards the sounds of the gunfire.

You swear under your breath, then follow after him; it’s not like you have any better options.

* * *

The screaming leads you to a group of people dressed in full hunting gear –backpacks, hiking boots, camo, the whole nine yards—with guns trained on a person booking it through the trees, screaming –understandably—like a banshee.

Your gut clenches when one of the hunters hits the running person straight in the back. _Shit_.

Frank bursts into action. With experienced ease, he darts behind a stand of trees, stalking the group of hunters as they go to check their “kill,” until the right opportunity opens up—

And then it’s over in a flash. He snaps the neck of the closest hunter, takes their gun, and the rest fall within seconds.

You grimace as you edge closer to the pile of fresh bodies. “Are there going to be more of them?”

“Definitely,” Frank says as he starts checking over the hunters’ gear. “These events are pretty big. Lots of people put cash down to participate. My bet is that this is just group one –or, if it’s a big enough plot of land, everyone else is spread out.”

“What about them?” you ask, nodding over to the fallen “hunt-ee.”

Frank shakes his head. “He’s toast. That shot would’ve gone straight through his heart.”

You creep a little closer to victim, trying to get a grasp on the situation without getting a full gore display. “She. Not he.”

“She,” Frank corrects, shrugging. “Doesn’t make a difference.”

“Does in this case.” You roll the body over with your foot, revealing a shock of dyed red hair, fingers with webbing between them, and gill slits on the neck that are partially covered by a repression collar. “She’s a mutant.”

Frank looks up at you before joining you near the woman’s body. “Anyone you recognize?”

“Captain Tribecca Jones, also known as Marlene, no last name given.” You close Marlene’s eyes –set in a vacant, lifeless gaze—and sigh heavily. “Mutant grifter, gotten in some trouble with the law. Notable for tracking ships carrying trafficked mutants and humans on them and setting them free –and for breaking out of the Icebox five different times.”

“Damn.” Frank lets out a low whistle. “They were clearly going for a challenge round if they picked her up.”

“Not much of a challenge with the collar.”

“Trophy, then. Bragging rights.”

Your stomach churns, and you look away from Marlene’s lifeless body. “We’re not fucking trophies.”

* * *

Much to your dismay –and Frank’s derision—none of the hunters were carrying anything that could be used to get the collar off you.

“Who the fuck doesn’t carry a blade on them?” he grumbles as he pairs down the most useful gear into one backpack. “You’re going ‘hunting’ in the middle of the damn woods; take a fucking pocket knife at least.”

“I mean, they might not need one,” you point out as you scan the area around you nervously. “They’re going out together in teams, they’ve probably got maps and tracking equipment, and I doubt they’re actually sleeping out in the woods. Does something seem off to you?”

“We’re prey in a sick hunting game in the middle of who knows the fuck where,” Frank points out as he hands you a metal water bottle. “This whole thing is off.”

“Yeah, no, I mean… about where we are. Something’s not right.” Your gaze darts around wildly as your brain works overtime. “None of this _feels_ right.”

“Hey.” Frank gently clasps your shoulder. “Deep breath. Panicking won’t help.”

“I’m not—” You purse your lips together when Frank gives you a look, then take a deep breath and let it out. “This not feeling right isn’t me panicking. Something is off about where we are –not how we got here, but the woods themselves. Something’s wrong with these woods.”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“You seem pretty dead set on this ‘we’ thing,” you mutter.

“Should I not be?”

“I mean… if I have an episode…”

“You’re wearing the collar,” Frank points out. “Which means you don’t pose a risk to me.”

“Well, if we can’t get it off, I’m fucking useless!”

“All the more reason for me to stick close to you,” Frank says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not just gonna leave you in this, okay?”

You sigh, then nod. “Alright. Where do we go now?”

Another scream rips through the air –further away this time—followed by more gunshots.

Frank takes off in the direction of the shots. “We go this way.”

* * *

Your second run in with the hunters doesn’t go nearly as well as the first.

First, the second victim alerts the hunters to yours and Frank’s presence, which means there’s no sneaking up on them and taking them out before they realize what’s going on.

Second, the hunters notice you as well as Frank –and manage to get between the two of you so you have to fend them off as well.

You grit your teeth as you dive behind a massive mound of dirt. Gunfire cracks through the air as shotgun rounds slam into the small hill, and you cover your head with your hands. You can hear Frank shouting and other people letting out various shrieks and grunts of pain, so you can only assume –hope—that he’s holding his own.

This is out of your realm. You’re not a slouch when it comes to fighting, but being gunned down in the middle of nowhere with a repression collar around your neck is _well_ above your pay grade.

You scramble to the side just before one of the hunters clambers over the hill, then kick them in the knee before they can set their sights on you. You make a mad dash for their shotgun, rip it away from them, then skitter back and turn the gun on them.

And then you freeze. You can’t make your finger squeeze the trigger. For all that you’ve shot targets –and been shot at—you can’t bring yourself to fire a gun at another human being.

The hunter lunges at you—

Another gunshot cracks through the air, and the hunter’s head explodes like a watermelon loaded with C4.

You scream, then look up at the bank of dirt.

Frank lowers a rifle –which he presumably took off one of the hunters. His face is spattered with blood, and he looks far too calm for a man who just killed several people. “You froze.”

“I…” You activate the safety on the shotgun and stare at the bloodstained ground. “Yeah.”

“You can’t do that here. If you have a shot, you have to take it.”

“I… I can’t,” you say, ducking your head to hide the tears that have suddenly welled up in your eyes.

“Not an option right now. It’s them or us.” Frank squeezes your shoulder gently, then wraps one of his arms around you and leads you away from the headless corpse. “Come on. I think one of these bastards was carrying a blade.”

* * *

“This still seems really weird,” you comment as Frank searches the dead hunters for a knife. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“Outside of being abducted and used as prey in some psychopath’s hunting game? Not particularly.” He lets out a pleased grunt when he finds a pocket knife on one of the hunter’s belt, then removes a pistol from their holster as well. “You comfortable with a .380?”

You swallow hard and start shaking your head. “No, I –I can’t, Frank, I can’t—”

“Look, I know the X-Men have their thing about ‘no killing,’ but this is—”

“No, no, I can’t kill anyone else. I tried to run away from home as a kid, and they hunted me down, and I had to… I can’t, I _can’t_ —”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank grumbles, quickly moving to stand when you start crying. “Hey. _Hey_. Look at me.” He holds up the knife. “We’re getting this collar off you, okay? You keep ‘em off me, and I’ll make sure they stay down, okay?”

You nod, sniffing loudly and swiping at your nose with your sleeve. “Okay. I can do that.”

Frank nods back, then steps behind you. “Alright, you’ll have to walk me through this.”

“Are there any manufacturers labels stamped on the collar? Any model types or labels at all?” you ask.

“Uh… Essex Productions? Type… 187B?”

You run through your mental file on repression collars –and send a _thank you_ to your uncle—then nod. “Okay. Pop the keypad panel open and tell me what it looks like in there.”

It takes a bit of finagling –and a lot of cursing on Frank’s part—but he manages to lever the panel open with the knife blade. “Alright… got a… glowing, yellow battery-looking thing in the middle. There’s wires connecting the keypad to a motherboard thing, and a… blue something underneath the motherboard. Can’t get a good visual on it.”

“The yellow battery is a cell that contains the repression chip,” you say. “The blue thing is the collar’s power cell. We break the circuit, the collar will deactivate automatically.”

“Great. And how do we do that?”

“See if you can lever the motherboard up with the knife,” you suggest. “There should be wires underneath it that connect to the power cell in there.”

“So, you want me to jam this metal blade next to a power source.”

“I mean, you were going to be on death row at one point,” you mumble. “Could just be part of a well-rounded experience.”

“Very fucking funny; New York doesn’t do electrocution anymore. Hold still.”

You inhale deeply and close your eyes—

And then the collar powers down, opens with a clicking noise, and falls off your neck.

You let out a sigh of relief –then whip your head around when the sensation of ‘ _this isn’t right_ ’ doesn’t go away. “What the fuck? This place _still_ doesn’t feel right! Did they injection me with repression serum on top of it?”

“Can you fly?” Frank asks with a shrug.

You successfully levitate yourself off the ground, which only increases your confusion. “What the actual hell? Okay, I’m going to fly up and see if I can see any major landmarks.”

“Wait –shit, hold the fuck on.” Frank grabs your arm and yanks you away from the pile of bodies. “We need to move to a new location, just in case anyone else heard the sounds of the fight.”

You follow him along a narrow trail, until the two of you are far enough away that Frank’s willing to stop. “Alright, I’m gonna poke my head above the tree cover. Keep your eyes peeled down here.” You hover up, latching onto branches to help direct your ascent, then push some lush, green leaves out of your way so you can stick your head out and look around—

You gawk. “What the fuck!”

Instead of clear blue sky –or clouds, or anything resembling the _fucking sky_ —you’re greeted by a dark, metal ceiling. Massive industrial lights hang down from the ceiling in a grid, illuminating the space and the “forest” beneath.

“We’re in a fucking warehouse!” you hiss down at Frank.

He frowns up at you, disbelieving. “What? How’s that even possible?”

“I will lift you up here myself if you don’t believe me, I swear to Barbara Streisand—”

“No, no, I believe you, just…” He gestures around at the trees. “How is any of _this_ inside a fucking warehouse?”

You gasp as the lightbulb goes off in your head. “Frank! Listen!”

He tenses, eyes scanning your surroundings as he does as you say. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! No birds, no animals, no bugs –not even a damn breeze. This is a fake forest!”

Frank’s eyes widen as you land next to him. “Shit, you’re right. The trees and shit are real enough, but there’s nothing else. They must’ve built this place just for ‘hunting.’”

“Well, the upside is if we’re in a building, there have to be walls and doors. Some sort of way out, at least,” you reason. “If we can find one of the walls, we can run the perimeter until we find an exit.”

“Hang on.” Frank heaves the backpack off his shoulders. “One of the asshats… yeah, they had a map.” He unfolds it, then holds it out so you can both read off it. “This boundary—” he gestures to a dotted line “—must be the limits of the warehouse.”

“I’m willing to be these spots—” you tap the map where parts of the dotted line are highlighted with red “—are exits and entries.”

“Why would they keep doors if they’re bringing people in here?”

“They might be hidden. Or locked.”

“Then how are going to use them?”

“I can rip them open with my powers.” You kick up a little breeze to illustrate your point. “Or, push comes to shove, we wait for someone to come out and jump them.”

“Good enough plan. Could you see where the walls are when you flew up?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s too big a space.”

Frank grumbles under his breath and peers down at the map. “Okay, we’re on an incline right now, which means we’re somewhere around here.” He taps the bottom of the map. “There’s a stream down here—” he taps the center of the page “—that crosses the whole warehouse. We walk until we find it, then go left until we hit the wall. Closest door will be on the right.”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “Guess we better get walking.”

* * *

The two of you hike through the woods for what feels like half an hour before you blurt out, “Do you think they put trackers on us?”

Frank immediately bursts into a massive, angry barrage of swear words and all but rips the backpack off his backpack. “Should’ve fucking done that right away, goddamn idiot— help me check this shit.”

The two of you check over all the gear Frank’s poached off the dead hunters –guns, the knife, the maps, a pair of night vision goggles, flashlights, boxes of ammo, water bottles, rations—and the pack itself before checking your own clothes over.

Considering you’re wearing your own clothes –and aren’t feeling any pain or finding any bruises that would suggest an implanted chip—you start to think that there might not be anything—

Until you find a GPS tracking device tucked underneath the sole of your shoe.

“Check your shoes,” you tell Frank, holding up the tiny electronic device between your fingers. “I’ll bet there’s at least one in them.”

Frank growls under his breath when he pulls out an identical device. “Son of a bitch. Any chance you can stick this on top of a tree?”

“Hell yeah,” you say with a grin. You find the tallest tree in the vicinity, then float up and wedge the tracking devices in a crack in the trunk.

And, just when you think the two of you might finally have a handle on the situation, the lights shut off as soon as you feet hit the ground.

“Is it night-time?” you whisper. You can’t see anything –not even Frank—and the sudden darkness makes you feel like you can be heard from a mile away.

“Is for us,” Frank says back, voice similarly hushed. There’s a few shuffling noises, and then a flashlight clicks on, illuminating Frank’s face and the map he stole. He crouches close to the ground, hunching over the light to hide as much of it as possible. “Get down. It’ll make you harder to see on night vision equipment.”

You kneel down next to him, squinting down at the map. “What’re you looking for?”

“Topographical depressions. We’re liable to get hurt if we try to walk around in the dark, and if we use the flashlights we’ll lead them right to us. We need to find a place to hunker down that’s as sheltered as possible.” He mutters under his breath as he studies the map. “There’s a spot… but opposite of the direction we’ve been going. Gonna be pretty hard to go uphill in the dark, but if we use the flashlight—”

“Use the goggles and talk me through it,” you insist. “I can use my powers to block the sound of us talking from travelling past us.”

“You might fall,” Frank warns you.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Alright,” he agrees after a moment, rifling through the backpack so he can set up the night vision goggles. “Goggles it is.”

* * *

It takes no small amount of doing to navigate your way over to the ravine Frank found on the map. Even if there aren’t any animals in the “forest” –which you think might be better called an “arena”—there’s still plenty of plants, fallen branches, partially decomposed logs, and rocks to make your way around.

You keep an iron grip on Frank’s hand as he leads you through the woods, moving as cautiously and quietly as you can.

Eventually, the two of you reach the gulch –and without too many scrapes or bruises, either. Frank briefly flicks on the flashlight so the two of you can find a safe place to hunker down for the night; the two of you are out within seconds of settling down on the ground.

You come to with a jerk when the overhead lights flick back on, blasting the entire space with harsh, white light. You grimace as waves of pins and needles shoot throughout your body and curl up on your side. _Fucking withdrawals_.

Frank groans next to you and pushes himself into a sitting position. “Gotta get moving again.”

“I know.” You push yourself up slowly, trying to take deep breaths against the pain and general feelings of _suckitude_ coursing through your body. “You sleep alright?”

Frank chuckles as he rummages through the backpack. “Not the worst I’ve had.” He hands you a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Fuel up. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

The last thing you want to do right now is eat. Just the sight of the granola bar and the water makes your stomach churn angrily.

But Frank’s right –doubly so since you’re a mutant and have that accelerated metabolism thing that Hank keeps talking about.

Frank frowns when you hesitate before taking the granola bar and water. “You sick? You ain’t looking so good.”

“Just withdrawals,” you say with a shake of your head. “They make me feel like shit.”

Frank hisses through his teeth, then scans the map before looking around at the gulch and the surrounding area. “I’d say we could just stay put, but—”

“We can’t,” you finish as you nibble at your granola bar. “I know. We’ll stick to the plan of moving towards the stream. I just… I might need to stop and breathe on occasions.”

Frank nods once, twice. “That works. You just say when.”

* * *

It’s slower going, what with you being so out of it, but the two of you manage to cover a decent amount of ground in what Frank reasons is only a couple hours. He keeps the map in his hand, checking your surroundings ever few minutes so he can keep tabs on roughly where the two of you are and how close you are to the stream.

All in all, it’s going pretty good.

And then you get hit with a panic attack.

It slams into you out of nowhere; granted, in hindsight, you’ll be able to track the mounting tension in your torso and shoulders, the increase in your heart rate, and the growing shallowness of your breaths.

But, unfortunately, all you have is the present moment –and, in the present moment, you go from striding next to Frank to having overwhelming waves of anxiety crash over you and feeling like you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Frank quickly moves you over and sets you down in front of an outcropping of large boulders –cover in case a group of hunters is in the area. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Panic attack,” you eke out, trembling from head to toe as you gasp for air. You close your eyes, trying to calm your breathing. “Just gotta ride it out.”

“Ah, shit.” There’s a gentle thump, then more rustling. “Hey.”

You open your eyes and see Frank sitting next to you, pack on the ground and one hand outstretched to you, palm up.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Frank says, giving you a meaningful look.

You manage a ghost of a smile and take his hand, squeezing it tight as you try to wide out the waves of fear.

It’s hard, as it’s always been –more so since you’re going through medication withdrawals. You know it’ll pass, that it always passes, but the whole thing has shades of being kidnapped and trapped underneath your parents’ house, which only serves to make it more terrifying—

Except Frank’s here. His hand is solid and warm around yours, and even though the two of you aren’t anywhere near “close,” you trust him. You trust him to work with you through this, to have your back –and, apparently, to hold your hand while your work through a panic attack.

Something in the back of your mind says the Punisher’s probably had his fair share of panic attacks, too.

“Heard you and Rasputin got hitched,” Frank says after a bit, voice gravelly.

You let out a wet laugh and look down at your engagement ring and wedding band –which, miraculously, the abductors didn’t take off you when they scooped you up and dropped you in here. “Yeah, we did. Couple months ago.”

Frank nods slowly, gaze occasionally darting towards you but largely fixed on scanning your surroundings. “Figured that’d be the case. He’s the type. You two are good together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling as you think of your husband. You sniff wetly, then wipe tears from your face. “He is. And we are.” You draw in and let out a jerky, shaky breath, then look over at Frank. “What about you and Karen?”

Frank’s face scrunches up amusingly as he mentally scrambles for some sort way to shut the line of conversation down. “Karen and I—”

“Are a thing,” you interject.

“We ain’t ‘a thing,’” Frank says firmly –sadly. “We just… it’s not gonna happen. It _can’t_ happen.”

“Seems like it’s already happening.”

“We—”

“You took me to her apartment, you knew where stuff was there, she had one of your hoodies there, she showed up to support you when Wade dragged you over to Xavier’s for the target practice outing, you stashed her at Xavier’s when you helped rescue me, not to mention that a majority of people in New York know and believe that you jumped in front of two bullets for her,” you list off. “Face it, the two of you are a thing.”

Frank sighs heavily –like a man dead set on torturing himself—and shakes his head. “We ain’t. Can’t be. I’m… I’m not good for anyone. Not like this.”

You take one look at Frank’s defeated expression and slumped posture, and your current lack of filter does the rest. “Take it from someone who got told their whole life that they weren’t ‘good for anyone,’ Castle—”

Frank looks up at you, surprise evident in his expression.

“The only people who suffer more than you do from believing that about yourself are the people who love and care about you,” you say as firmly as you can. “And, for you, Karen’s definitely one of those people.”

“Karen’s…” Frank swallows hard and stares at the ground. “Karen’s good. She’s… she’s someone I care about. And I can’t lose anyone else I care about.”

“Seems to me you’re already losing her.”

Frank shoots you a sharp look and opens his mouth to retort –then tenses and snaps it shut when the sound of voices echoes from nearby. “Hunters.”

“Sounds like a big group,” you murmur, forcing yourself into a crouch next to him. “Think we can avoid them?”

Frank slings the back pack over his shoulders, cocks one of the –many—guns he’d taken off the wake of corpses, and starts stalking towards the sound of conversation. “Not how this works.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you grumble under your breath before following after him.

* * *

The third fight is a bloodbath.

You were right about it being a larger group. There’s at least seventeen people, men and women, all in fancy hunting garb and wielding a variety of guns.

A few of them start yelling when they see Frank and you –then scream when the two of you charge them.

You can’t really keep track of the fight in your exhausted, strained state. You merely channel all your energy into keeping the hunters from ganging up on you and Frank, while Frank unleashes his rage in a maelstrom of guttural screams, bone-crushing punches, and sprays of enemy blood.

It’s a mess.

You bat hunter away from Frank with a burst of wind –then let out a scream when another hunter slams into you, forcibly shoving you away from Frank and against a thick tree trunk.

The hunter growls under his breath and unsheathes a massive knife, angling it at your face. “Mutant bitch.”

You grunt as you flinch away from the swing of the blade, heart hammering as he embeds the knife into the trunk of the tree. You use the opportunity to knee him in the gut –then let out a shout of pain when he slams your head against the tree.

“Told me you were X-Men,” the hunter says, pressing his hand against your throat and pushing against your neck while you thrash and struggle. “Told me you’d be a challenge. None of you mutant bastards have even been remotely interesting to kill.”

You let out a raspy gurgle as your pulse pounds in your ears, then focus your powers on expanding the man’s lungs past capacity as quickly as you can.

The hunter jerks, makes a horrific choking noise, then collapses to the ground in a heap as blood trickles out of his mouth.

You stumble forward, almost tripping over the body, gasping and coughing. You brace your hands on your knees, trying to stay steady as your vision clears and your hearing goes back to normal—

And then you hear the sounds of Frank struggling to fend off the last hunter, who’s got him pinned behind a tree and keeps advancing on him whilst firing his rifle.

You grit your teeth, then let out a guttural scream as you aim a blast of wind at the hunter.

The man slams through a nearby tree, shearing the trunk half before bouncing along the ground like a ragdoll.

There’s a beat of silence, then Frank pops out from behind the tree, looking a little startled. “You okay?”

You nod, panting, and wave a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Lets get out of here before anyone else finds us.”

* * *

The two of you find the stream right as the lights are switched off for the night.

You sigh heavily and drop down onto the ground. “Well, at least we can focus on finding the wall tomorrow.”

Frank grunts in agreement as he settles next to you, then briefly flicks on one of the flashlights as he rifles through the pack. “Here.” He hands you a ration packet and a bottle of water. “Need to stay fueled up.”

You shiver as another wave of pins and needles sweeps through your body and groan. “No. I don’t think I could even keep it down.”

“You need to eat.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I feel sick.” You shiver again, then curl into a ball as best you can. “And cold.”

Frank goes quiet for a minute, simply observing you, then sits back against the base of a thick tree trunk and motions for you to join him. “C’mere.”

“What?”

“You need to stay warm. Sharing body heat is the best way we have to do that.”

“This sounds like the start of a smut fic,” you mutter dubiously.

“You sound like fucking Wilson,” Frank grumbles under his breath before motioning for you to join him more insistently. “Come on. Not like I’m gonna do anything. I’m just looking to keep you warm, s’all.”

And even though it’s weird –and, in another universe, one hundred percent the start of a smut fic—you trust Frank not to do anything. And, moreover, you want to be warm.

You crawl over to him and sit between his legs, huddling against Frank’s chest. You nestle closer, shivering. “How are you so warm?”

“Testosterone,” Frank grunts, taking your ration pack and mixing some water in it to start the cooking process. “Higher amounts of testosterone means higher body temp.”

You grit your teeth as you shudder. “That sounds like cheating.”

“Probably is,” Frank agrees mildly, mixing your ration pack around with a fork –because the “high end hunters” kept actual silverware on them, for some reason—before handing it over to you. “Alright, try to get most of this down.”

You grimace and shake your head. “No. I just wanna sleep.”

“C’mon,” Frank encourages you, pressing the ration packet into your hands. “Wilson yammers almost nonstop about your guy, including his whole thing about ‘eating balanced meals’ and whatever the fuck. He’d want you to eat.”

You grumble to yourself as you reluctantly scoop some of the contents of the ration packet –which looks like a jambalaya rice mixture—onto your fork. “That’s a cheap move and you know it.”

“If it works, it works,” Frank says with a shrug.

* * *

Progress the next day is painfully slow. Your body hurts from sleeping on the ground and the withdrawals, you’re exhausted, and you feel sicker than a dog. You trudge along, stopping every few meters to catch your breath or double over from pain, nausea, or some inhumane combination of both.

Frank is markedly patient with you. He keeps an eye out for any sign of danger while the two of you trail along the stream, encourages you by picking out little landmarks –usually fallen logs or rocks—and challenging you to make it to them, and handles keeping track of when to eat and drink.

You’re getting the sneaking suspicion that you’re dead weight –though that could just be the increasing paranoia caused by the medication withdrawals.

Frank seems to think so, too, because he’s adamant about sticking with you when you suggest he go ahead and find the wall. “Not gonna happen,” he says, voice firm. “I’m not leaving you out here like this. We’re sticking together, and that’s the end of it.”

You nod, too tired to argue, then offer up a weak smile. “Besides, Wade would kick the shit out of you if you abandoned me.”

Frank huffs and nods while scanning the route ahead. “You’re right about that. Not to mention your dad and your husband.”

“Piotr’s not a violent person.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t hesitate to slam me around if I left you out here while you’re like this,” Frank insists before nodding at a bend in the stream. “Let’s reach that curve, then you can sit and rest for a bit. Sound good?”

You nod wearily and press on. “Good as it’s gonna get right now.”

* * *

You crumple to the ground when the overhead lights switch off. “Thank Cthulhu.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Frank snorts as he settles down next to you. He rummages through the pack, then offers you some water and another ration pack. “Here. Eat.”

“No,” you groan, turning away and curling into a ball. “I’m gonna puke up whatever I eat. I’ll just go without tonight.”

“You need to eat.”

“We have limited food supplies,” you fire back, voice heated, “and we are _not_ going to waste them by just having me throw them back up. I’m not eating.”

“Not eating is going to cause more problems than eating,” Frank argues. He switches out the ration pack for a granola bar, then forcibly shoves it in your hands. “ _Eat_. Or, so fucking help me, I’m feeding it to you.”

You sit up with an irritated huff –then let out a cry of dismay when a fallen branch rips your jacket. “Fucking… stupid fucking piece of shit branch –get the fuck off of me!” You whip it away from you—

And it bounces off something a few feet away with a metallic thud.

You and Frank both go stock still.

“Is that—” you whisper, scarcely daring to be hopeful at this point.

“Stay down,” Frank growls under his breath as he scrambles for the night vision goggles. He scans the area, then whispers, “No one’s nearby as far as I can see.”

You suck in a breath and flip on a flashlight—

And, less twenty feet away from you, is a wall.

“We made it,” you breathe, barely able to believe it.

“We still need to find a door,” Frank points out.

“Well, it’s supposed to be to the right, right? I can hop us over the stream, and then we can find the door, break in, and maybe sleep somewhere that isn’t the ground.”

Frank hesitates for a moment, then whips a wild glance over his shoulder when the sound of gunfire and more screaming emanate from the distance. “Fuck it.” He slings the pack over his shoulder and shoves himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Finding the door is markedly easier than finding the stream or the wall. You get you and Frank over the stream, then the two of you follow the wall until you reach a metal door with an electronic scanner that strongly resembles the keycard mechanisms on hotel doors next to it.

“Maybe there’s a keycard in the pack,” you suggest, voice hushed. “Or something similar that’ll let us in.”

A quick search of the pack does indeed yield a keycard that looks like it’ll fit the scanner –and, from there, you and Frank make a plan for entry.

“You swipe the card, and if the door opens, you stay behind me while I clear everything,” Frank says, tone brokering no room for argumentation.

You nod, then tuck yourself against the wall before swiping the card in the key slot.

The door swishes open, revealing an empty hallway.

Frank does a quick scan, gun aimed and ready, then nods for you to follow him.

* * *

It doesn’t take long to clear the base connected to the hunting grounds. There’s only a handful of people in there –a couple of guards, another hunting party hanging out in a luxury lounge area while they chat and compare trophies taken off the victims, and a couple of men watching cameras that overlook the outside of the complex –which, by in large, looks like a barren field—and a GPS scanner that covers the hunting arena.

Frank slaughters everyone there without hesitation or mercy, then piles the bodies in one of the opulent suites built into the complex. His lip curls into a sneer as he eyes the place, clearly designed for luxurious, top end comfort and relaxation. “This place is fucking disgusting.”

“If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure Wade will help you burn it once everyone comes and picks us up,” you mutter, shivering slightly. “Can I sit down now?”

* * *

Frank manages to get word out to one of his friends –a “tech spook,” as Frank describes him—who then gets word to the X-Men, who then relays a message that the X-Men are on their way to rescue you and Frank. The only thing the two of you have to do in the meantime is sit tight.

Things are markedly quieter, now. There’s a few more rounds of gunfire as Frank finishes off the last of the hunters attempting to reenter the complex attached to the forested arena, but other than that things are deathly silent.

You feel markedly better once you take a long, hot shower and change into some clean clothes, poached out of one of the dead hunter’s closet. That, plus some decent food that you found in the lounge kitchen, has you feeling miles better than you have over the past few days.

You look up from where you’ve been watching the camera bank, perched on one of the chairs, when Frank walks in from his shower. “Everything’s been quiet.”

He nods, scanning the cameras before plopping down in the seat next to you. Should probably hole up in here. Door’s reinforced, and it’s not likely anyone would think to look in here.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone left,” you say. “There aren’t any other GPS trackers in the arena, and you already cleared the complex.”

"Better safe than sorry. Your people should be here in a little over ten hours. They’ll get us back to New York.”

“I take it we’re not in America anymore?”

Frank shakes his head. “Siberia, according to Lieberman. One of the few places you could hide something like this. Right in your guy’s territory, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I mean, Piotr’s dad has a farm in Siberia, but I’m pretty sure he would’ve tipped us off if this was anywhere near him.” You smile as you think of your husband, then look over at Frank once more. “You looking forward to getting out here?”

“Pretty much anywhere’s better than this shithole.”

“I meant more as it relates to seeing Karen—”

“For the love of Christ, will you fucking drop it?” Frank groans, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “There’s nothing to relate it to! Karen and I are not a thing.”

“Bullshit!” you fire back, swiveling your chair so you’re facing him. You cross your arms over your chest. “Even if you two aren’t an official ‘thing,’ you love her, and you know she loves you.”

“We—”

“Look me in the eye, Frank,” you challenge, staring him down. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love Karen.”

Frank stares at you for a moment, licking at his lower lip nervously, then sighs heavily and hangs his head. “I love her. I’ll always love her. But we can’t –we _cannot_ —be a thing.”

“Why not? And don’t tell me it’s about keeping her safe,” you snap, pointing at him. “We both know –along with everyone else in the state of New York—that Karen Page does just fine all on her own at being a colossal shit magnet. She’s built her whole career off it. So don’t fucking sell me some sort of line about ‘keeping her safe,’ because the actual chances are she’d be a lot safer if you were always close by to watch her back.”

Frank’s jaw works, and his finger taps against his thigh. “Look, Karen… Karen’s good. She… she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves someone who can give her the whole fairytale ending, y’know? Two story house, picket fence, couple of dogs… a comfortable life. I can’t ever give that to her. I’m not going to just take her future away from her. I’d rather get shot in the head again than do that.”

“Let me ask you a very fair question,” you say, cocking your head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “Have you actually _asked_ Karen what kind of future she wants?”

Frank’s gaze darts to the floor sheepishly. “Don’t matter. I’m not putting her at risk.”

“The _fuck_ it doesn’t matter, you misogynistic shit goblin!” you exclaim, lurching up out of your chair. “You can’t just make decisions for Karen without even consulting her about what you want. Look, you either love her and want to be with her for who she is, or you’re in love with this tortured ‘will-it-won’t-it’ scenario and keep stringing her along because you like the attention but don’t want the commitment.”

“You fucking –you fucking think that I would do _that_ to Karen?” Frank roars, shoving his chair back so hard it topples over. “That what you fucking think of me? That I’m some –some fucking player who wants some pretty woman’s attention, so I’ll –I’ll just string her along! Tease her with the idea of some sort of future that’ll never be fulfilled! Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

“I think you’re a guy with his head wedged so far up his own asshole that he’s forgotten that there’s another person in this situation and that you’re _hurting her_ ,” you fire back, voice going gravelly. “If you’re so dead set on not putting Karen in danger and not having her be connected to you, then just cut her out and call it good so she can move on with her own life.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Frank’s expression crumples, and he sags against the desk positioned in front of the camera display screens, borderline lifeless. “I have. I thought it… that it was the best option. For –for both of us. And then I come back and I find out that she had to fight an entire war practically on her own and… and I wasn’t there to help. So I decided to stay, decided to stick around and make sure nothing like that happened again, but…”

“You can’t do love by halves,” you surmise.

Frank shakes his head, shoulders sagging. “You can’t. _I_ can’t.”

“So why not just make things official and take things as they come. If you’re protecting her, then she’s still connected to you. May as well get something more out of the arrangement –for both of you.”

Frank growls and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Chrissakes, will you just drop it already?”

“I talk to Wade Wilson for fun and my daily job involves managing and teaching teenagers,” you fire back, placing your hands on your hips. “I can argue circles around you, Castle, even on my off days.”

Frank shoots you an irritated glare. “So –what—I just… I just act like a selfish asshole and—and sweep her off her feet and stay in her life properly?”

“If that’s what she wants, then yeah. Enough with the self-flagellation, Castle, sheesh. We’ve all got our selfish points.”

“Not like this,” Frank insists. “Not like me.”

“Bullshit,” you fire back. “Plenty of us have dark shit in our past and present. That doesn’t stop us from living the lives we want as best we can.”

“You’re not a killer—”

You frown severely. “The fuck I’m not!”

Frank alters course without missing a beat. “What happened to you as a kid isn’t even remotely the same thing—”

“I’ve killed people since then,” you interject hotly, which shuts Frank up. “I went to a murder shack out in Harmony –anti-mutant community, I’ll explain more later—and killed twenty people to steal some repression serum. I don’t care what kind of arguments you make about the trauma that lead me to do that, about the quality of people they were, or whatever the fuck else! Point still stands: I chose to kill people. I still choose to associate with people who kill people. And, for whatever reason, the universe hasn’t chosen to smite me for it. So, I’m going to live the life I want for as long as I can, and anyone who doesn’t like it can go suck my dick.”

The corner of Frank’s mouth quirks up. “Most people don’t go around admitting stuff like that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m bursting any bubbles of masculinity here, but I could beat you in a fight, easy.”

“Is that so?” Frank asks, brows raising towards his hairline as he chuckles.

“I could make your lungs explode or throw you against a wall so hard you turn into human Jello. Unless you got the jump on me with a gun, it wouldn’t even be a contest.”

Frank shrugs while chuckling. “Yeah, probably. You’re a tough bird, that’s for sure.” He sobers quickly, finger tapping against his thigh in a steady, quick rhythm. “Look, I –I hear what you’re saying. ‘Bout me and Karen. I really do. I just… I can’t lose anyone close to me again. I can’t.”

“I get that.”

Frank pins you with a sharp, intense look. “Do you?”

“Frank, I’m a mutant,” you say tiredly. “I have to register as a mutant by law, and I –and my loved ones—could be rounded up and detained any day. I work with the X-Men, which includes the risk of any of us not coming back from a mission. I may not understand what you went through specifically with your family, but not wanting to lose someone close to you when there’s a daily risk? Yeah, I get that.” You shrug. “Personally, I think it’s better to life happily, even if for a short amount of time, than be miserable forever.”

Frank swallows hard, then starts poking around with the equipment hooked up to the screens and cameras. “Go get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

It’s an obvious deflection tactic, but you’re too tired to argue right now. You yawn, then head out the door. “Scream if you need me.”

Frank snorts. “Will do, Rasputin.”

You smile at the inclusion of your new last name, then pad off in search of a comfortable place to sleep.

* * *

By the time the sun properly rises for the day, one of the X-Jets finally touches down next to the complex entryway.

Most people wouldn’t think that someone as big as your husband would be particularly quick or nimble –especially when armored up—but he manages just that as he rushes down the loading ramp and over to you. He lifts you up into his arms –ever mindful of his added strength and, ah, firmness of his armor—then carefully sets you down and looks you over for any signs of damage or illness.

“I’m okay.” You shudder when another wave of pins and needles sweeps through you, then offer your husband a reassuring smile. “I just need my meds and some sleep.”

Piotr nods, then delicately kisses the top of your head. “Let’s go home, _myshka_."

You make to follow him to the jet, but stop when you hear a relieved cry of Frank’s name—

And then Karen Page sprints off the X-Jet and into Frank Castle’s arms.

Frank looks shocked to see her but catches her anyway. His eyes dart around wildly for a moment as he holds her close, but then he relaxes into the embrace and lets his eyes shut.

“Man,” Wade says, all suited up, from his vantage point on the loading ramp. “They’ve got it so bad for each other, don’t they?”

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yeah, they really do.”

* * *

If getting back to the United States takes a long time, being cleared by the medical team at Xavier’s takes even longer. You’re poked, prodded, examined, assessed, and checked on until your head spins.

Fortunately, though, you have Piotr to keep you company throughout all of it. He sits by you for the entire time, dutiful in holding your hand and offering murmured encouragements and affections when needed.

Nathan and Neena also pop in and out during the evaluation –Nathan to ask questions about the hunters, their methods, and the complex, and Neena to make sure that she “rubs some luck on your examination.”

All in all, you’re good.

You look up from talking to Piotr when you hear a loud guffaw of laughter –and then Wade skips into your room.

“Did you really tell the Punisher he was being a ‘misogynistic shit goblin?’”

You grin sheepishly when Piotr makes a choking noise. “In my defense, I was off my medication.”

* * *

“There have to be more places like them. I seriously doubt the people running that kind of operation would only invest in one location.”

“I suspect you are right, _myshka_. However, now is not time for thinking of such things. Your job is to rest and recover. Nathan and Wade can handle tracking down mis-doers.”

You can’t help but smiling at the slight mangling of “wrong doers,” and nod. “Yeah. I feel bad for whoever’s running the show. Dad’s gonna put them through a world of hurt.”

You and your lovely husband are walking back to your house, stationed at the back of Xavier’s property. You’d insisted on walking by yourself –and while Piotr had agreed to let you, he still keeps a sharp eye on you for any sign of discomfort, dizziness, fatigue, or pain.

You reach out to pat Piotr’s arm reassuringly –then stop when you spy two certain someones across the lawn. “Well. Would you look at that.”

Frank and Karen are also strolling across the lawn, hand in hand. Frank seems to be talking, head bobbing uncertainly as he keeps an eye on his surroundings, while Karen seems more quiet, more focused on him.

And then Frank stops, finally looks at Karen, and says something that results in her kissing him.

“What is that all about?” Piotr asks, gently tugging you along as Frank slowly wraps his arms around Karen.

You grin, then follow your husband. “That, my dear, is the world as it should be.”


End file.
